


nothing on earth can silence

by Vorpal_Sword



Series: the soft animal of your body [4]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Coming of Age, Daemon Settling, Daemons, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Pre-Canon, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:28:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vorpal_Sword/pseuds/Vorpal_Sword
Summary: In which the Leverage Crew's daemons settle, and they figure out who they are and who they want to be.Or, the obligatory settling fic.





	1. Nate: know who we are

**Author's Note:**

> Like I was going to write a daemon AU and not include a settling fic.
> 
> Title and chapter titles all come from Moana.

Growing up, Nathan Ford was one of a half-dozen boys running around his neighborhood with daemons named Brigid, the grandchildren of Irish immigrants whose American parents wanted to honor their heritage without knowing all that much about it. 

When Jimmy Ford got drunk, he never tired of telling the story of seeing Brigid shimmer into existence as newborn Nathan took his first gasping breath, the tiny ball of downy feathers materializing next to him and opening her beak to cry out for attention. Jimmy would down a shot of whiskey and say, “You should’ve seen it! That little chick, not five minutes old and already demanding respect! That’s my boy!” 

And it was true that young Brigid favored bird forms, just like her parents. Daemon types often ran in families, after all, and for a while the main question the bookies asked was what type of bird young Ford would settle as, with long odds on her settling as anything else.

Nathan and Brigid roamed around Boston, trying out different forms. At McRory’s, watching Dad command the room, Brigid became a peregrine falcon like Saorlaith, enjoying the powerful wings and sharp vision. Later, as they got older, Brigid would watch Saorlaith and try out other raptors— hawks and owls and eagles, while Jimmy Ford watched back, keeping his thoughts to himself. At home with Mom, Brigid would hop onto the counter next to Cían, two mourning doves sunbathing by the window. 

But it was on the streets with their friends that Brigid stretched her wings, mimicking the local birds with glee and a certain systematic precision, like she was crossing options off a list. They tried pigeons and crows, woodpeckers and bluejays, ducks and geese. Nathan went on the Swan Boats with Paul from school and the boys laughed themselves sick watching their swan daemons honk and splash. 

Once, Brigid joined a hummingbird at a rhododendron bush, but shifted quickly back into a pigeon and returned to Nathan’s shoulder. “Exhausting,” she ruled. “Not doing that again.” 

For two whole weeks when Nathan was eleven, Brigid was a seagull, and they made plans to run off to be a sailor. 

Yet as they grew older, Brigid moved on to other kinds of animals. She tried cats and dogs, foxes and squirrels. 

“I like walking on my own,” she explained to Nathan when he asked, cuddled in bed in the form of a tabby cat. “It feels more grounded. Stable. Flying is fun but it’s not like I can go very far, anyway. I don’t want to be carried everywhere.” 

Nathan scratched her ears. “You know I don’t mind carrying you,” he said. She nuzzled his face, tickling him with her whiskers. 

“I know,” she said lovingly. “I never doubted that. But all the same, I’d rather walk, I think.” 

Like nearly every other kid around, they visited the zoo and tried out more exotic animals— gorillas, chimpanzees, zebras, anteaters, hyenas, even a small elephant— but Brigid quickly returned to the more familiar forms, to Nate’s quiet relief. 

“It would’ve been awfully inconvenient to be an elephant,” he said when she called him on it. “And, well, we don’t need to be _ flashy. _”

“This is homier,” Brigid agreed, tongue lolling out as a fluffy cocker spaniel. “We could go nearly anywhere, like this.” 

The first time they went to McRory’s in dog form, Jimmy Ford sniffed and proceeded to ignore them. Nathan and Brigid watched their dad bully people under his daemon’s haughty eye. When they walked home together that night, Brigid trotting along as an Irish wolfhound, Jimmy said witheringly, “Dogs are for _ servants_, you know.”

(It was a common enough stereotype— dogs were supposed to be loyal and obedient, and there was a long history of vassals with dog daemons back in feudal times. On the other hand, dogs were also one of the most common daemon forms at all, so it just made statistical sense that many servants had dogs. And there was so much variety between breeds that it hardly made sense to assume a dog daemon always meant one thing. Nathan didn’t know that yet, though.) 

“Paul has a dog!” Nathan retorted, stung. It was true. His best friend Paul’s daemon, also named Brigid, had settled just two weeks earlier, as a St. Bernard that was nearly as large as he was. 

Jimmy snorted. “Yes, well, that’s _ Paul_,” he said as though that should be obvious. “No son of _ mine _will have a soul so common.”

Nathan said nothing. Next to him, Brigid shifted into a golden eagle, the largest raptor form she’d ever taken, large enough to make Saorlaith look like dinner. Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up and Saorlaith puffed up her feathers, but all he said was, “That’s more like it.” 

Jimmy Ford had time to get used to the idea of a son with a dog for a soul. For the next year, Brigid cycled through dog breeds like it was her job— terriers, retrievers, labradors, sheepdogs— until one day as they were walking home from school, she shook her head out, flopped her ears, and said, “This is it, then.” 

Nate—he was going by Nate then, had been since he’d started high school— stopped immediately and knelt down next to her. “We’re settled?” he asked breathlessly, running a hand down her short fur. She nodded, the motion sending ripples through her face and long ears. She was large, probably nearly two feet tall at the withers, though not quite as large as Paul’s St. Bernard. 

“Dad’s not going to be pleased,” she commented. Nate stroked her ears, feeling a thrill at the silky texture. He felt solid, strong, _ satisfied _ in a way he’d never known he was missing. 

“_I__’m _pleased,” he said firmly. “I’m...I’m so happy. Look at you, Brigid, you’re beautiful.” Her fur was reddish, with spots of black around her muzzle and down her back. They rushed to the public library, where they were greeted with a knowing smile by the librarian in the animal section. She and her mouse daemon were delighted to point them in the right direction to identify their form more precisely. Nate and Brigid nodded to a girl with a small green snake curled around her wrist who was searching through the reptile section before sliding the huge book of dogs of the shelf. It didn't take long to find the description they were searching for, and they headed home, flush with new knowledge and confidence. 

They burst through the door and rushed to the kitchen, late for dinner. Their parents looked up, ready to repeat the lecture on coming home on time, but before they could explain themselves, Cían hooted in excitement and their mom's expression brightened. "You've settled, then?" she asked eagerly, standing up from the table to get a better look at Brigid. 

“We’re a bloodhound,” Nate announced proudly, one hand on Brigid’s head. 

“Awfully droopy, isn’t she,” their dad remarked, looking critically at the folds of Brigid’s face. 

“Jimmy!” Sarah scolded, elbowing her husband sharply.

“Sorry, sorry.” He gave Brigid another appraising look. “Well. At least she isn’t a poodle, then.” 

Nate might’ve wilted under that look a week before, but now he could feel the warm strength of his true soul standing grounded next to him. He stiffened his spine and smiled at his dad with all his teeth. “She’s a bloodhound,” he said, “And she’s perfect.” He paused. “You know, Dad, I read that peregrine falcons are highly prized as game birds.” Saorlaith began to preen, and Nate added, “In part because they’re so easy to _ train. _Good servants like that, you know.” 

And he and his daemon went together to their room, leaving their father frozen behind them. 

(Later, much later, Jimmy Ford will stand on a dock in Boston, across from the grown son now running him out of town. He’ll look his boy with that dog next to him, and he’ll say, “You betrayed your own father. You're more ruthless than me. Crueler than me. Maybe you are better than me, huh? But I’ll tell you one thing, Nathan,” and here he will pause to stroke Saorlaith’s feathers, “I was wrong about that daemon of yours. You and me, Nathan, we’re both hunters.” He’ll shake his head and think of swooping down, full speed ahead, aiming for the kill, and he’ll finish, “I'm proud of you, son.” And Saorlaith will spring from his shoulder to circle around Brigid’s head and the two of them will head towards the boat, one walking and one flying, leaving man and bloodhound behind them.

But that is later. Tonight, Nate will comb Brigid’s fur, and they will look at the moon, and they will talk about their dreams.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daemons in this chapter:
> 
> Nathan Ford--Brigid, a bloodhound. Bloodhounds have extraordinarily keen olfactory senses and a tenacious tracking instinct. They are used around the world for tracking missing people and criminals. They do, in fact, have very droopy faces, which scientists think might help capture scents. She is named for St. Brigid, one of the patron saints of Ireland. 
> 
> Jimmy Ford-- Saorlaith (pronounced Serla), a peregrine falcon. Peregrine falcons are the fastest animals in the world, reaching speeds of up to 240 mph as they dive for prey. They are highly adaptable and are found nearly everywhere in the world, including urban environments, where they nest on skyscrapers and hunt pigeons. They are, as Nate says, highly prized in falconry due to their trainability, as well as their excellent hunting skills. Like most birds of prey, peregrine falcons are monogamous. They defend their nests fiercely when their young are threatened. Saorlaith is an Irish name meaning "noble princess" or "free born woman." 
> 
> Sarah Ford-- Cían (pronounced KEE-an), a mourning dove. Mourning doves are monogamous and devoted parents, even producing a substance known as "crop milk" or "pigeon milk" to feed their chicks before they are old enough to eat seeds, which is their preferred diet as adults. They are associated with peace. Cían is a Gaelic name meaning "ancient" or "enduring." In Irish mythology, Cían was the father of the great hero Lugh. 
> 
> Paul -- Brigid, a St. Bernard. St. Bernards are one of the largest species of dogs. They are patient, loyal, hard-working, and friendly. They were bred as rescue dogs at the Great St. Bernard Hospice in the Swiss Alps. Paul, who we meet as an adult in The Miracle Job, spends the entire episode trying to rescue Nate from his self-destructive path. His patience and compassion will serve him well in his chosen career as a priest.
> 
> Other notes:  
-In this universe, people are way more into zoology than in our universe for obvious reasons. Public libraries, especially ones in cities with reasonable budgets, have large zoology sections and dedicated librarians to help newly settled kids figure out what they are. (This will change with the development of the internet, but for many people, actually going to the library is a major part of their settling traditions.)  
-Of course bookies in this universe take bets on what kids will settle as. They have very complicated formulas regarding payout and how far in advance you guessed and how detailed your guess was (e.g., if you put money on "bird" when the kid is three, you might get about the same as someone who correctly guessed "red-winged blackbird" when the kid was eleven.)


	2. Hardison: chasing the love of these humans (the people you love will change you)

Alec was nine—scrawny, underfed, with wildly varying grades in school—when he met Viola Hardison for the first time. She looked him up and down, sharp-eyed, and he could tell she was cataloguing every detail, from his frayed shirtsleeves to the inks-stains on his fingers and the daemon curled in his arms. He surveyed her right back, from her cloud of corkscrew curls (Alec was into alliteration just then) to her gold hoop earrings to her well-worn handbag. “I’m Viola,” she said, reaching out a hand for him to shake like a grown-up. 

“ ’m Alec,” Alec mumbled, glancing at his daemon. This was usually where adults expected him to introduce her, but Viola hadn’t introduced hers. 

“You don’t have to introduce your daemon, honey,” Viola said, correctly interpreting his hesitation. “In my family, it’s the tradition to only share our daemon’s names when we want to, with people we feel close to or who we trust. You don’t ever have to share that with me if you don’t want.” 

Her daemon was some kind of small mammal with brown fur and black stripes down his back. He was standing upright by Viola’s handbag. Alec guessed from the scuffing that he liked to ride around in the bag sometimes. In his arms, his daemon shifted to mimic the form. 

(They had learned that habit early on. Adults tended to be nicer to kids with daemons that matched theirs, intentionally or not, and Alec’s daemon was not above manipulating that if it kept them safer). 

“That everything?” she asked, nodding to his small suitcase and overstuffed backpack.

Alec nodded. He turned towards the social worker who had been his only constant (aside from his daemon, of course) these last few years. 

“You know how to reach me, Alec,” she said, her cuckoo daemon peering at him solicitously. He nodded again. She sighed. “That’s it for the paperwork, then,” she said, and reached to shake Viola’s hand. “Viola, you know the drill. Call me if you need anything, both of you.” 

She had already turned back to her paperwork before Alec and Viola had left the room.

In that first week, Viola introduced him to his three new foster sisters, tuna noodle casserole, and Star Trek. 

“You never seen Star Trek?” the oldest girl, Keisha, asked incredulously. 

Alec shrugged. “My last foster place were Jehovah’s Witnesses,” he explained quietly. “No TV.” 

All three girls— Keisha, Amber, and Jess— stared at him. 

“That’s a damn shame,” Viola said, coming into the room. Alec flinched. “Guess we’ll just have to catch you up,” she added cheerfully, herding the kids onto the couch. “We’ll start with the original series, then. Luckily for you, I’ve got it recorded.” She pulled out a video tape. 

“Next Generation is better, Nana, and you know it,” Amber said, her daemon draped over her shoulder as a garden snake. 

“Like hell it is,” Viola retorted, grinning. She aimed a gentler smile at Alec. “You’ll see,” she promised. “Soon you’ll be arguing about it with the rest of us.” She shot Amber a fierce glance. “And Data will never be as interesting as Spock, and you know it.” 

Later that night, as the girls were doing their homework, Alec helped Viola clean up in the kitchen. He hesitated at first, but at her prodding, soon began peppering her with questions about the episode, space travel, and Vulcan physiology. 

“And why do they look basically human?” he demanded. “I mean, do we really expect aliens to look just like us but _ pointier? _And even if he’s half-human, don’t you think if he grew up on Vulcan, his daemon would be Vulcan animal?”

Viola’s daemon laughed, and Alec stopped speaking abruptly, shrinking back. “No, honey, I’m not laughing at you,” the daemon said. Her voice was low and musical, and Alec noted that he'd been wrong earlier about her gender. “I’m just pleased. I knew you’d fit in just fine around here.”

Alec froze. He’d never been directly addressed by an adult’s daemon before. But his daemon had it covered.

“They call me Alexa,” she said from his shoulder, chipmunk shaped.

Viola put down the plate, wiped her hands dry, and turned to face them. Her daemon, sprawled on the counter, said, “And what do _ you _ call you?”

She hesitated. No one had asked that before. “Alexa is fine, I guess,” she said. “We don’t have anything better.”

Viola smiled at them, gentle. “Alec and Alexa, huh?”

Alec nodded. “At the last place, everyone was like that, all matching names. John and Joanne, Mary and Mark. They were gonna call her Alice but we convinced them to go for Alexa, instead.” He thought with a pang about Mary and her little cocker spaniel, bossing him around. He’d thought, briefly, that that might’ve been a home. 

(Sometimes he wondered if that was where he’d started to go wrong there, the very first time they’d contradicted John. Or, well, to be exact, _ Alexa _ had suggested the alternate, and John and Joanne had exchanged looks. Joanne, a Canadian goose, had said, “Alexa works, I suppose, but you shouldn’t talk to other humans.” She nipped Alexa with her sharp beak. “It’s not _ modest_, and it’s not _ godly. _ The daemon-human relationship is divine, and you sully God’s precious gift by exposing yourself to other people outside of the sacred bond of marriage.” It was the last time Alec ever heard her talk, though he became quite familiar with her loud honking in the morning. Alexa told him that Joanne sometimes spoke privately with her, but she refused to repeat anything the goose had said.) 

Something of the memory must’ve shown through on his face. Viola pursed her lips like she was going to say something cutting but had decided against it. “Well,” she said instead. “I’d be honored if you called me Nana. And this is Uhura.” 

Alec’s eyes lit up. “Uhura?” he asked eagerly. “Like from Star Trek?”

Nana winked at him. “Yeah, like Star Trek.” She ran a hand down Uhura’s back, smoothing the ruffled brown fur. “But not just that. It comes from Swahili, and it means freedom.”

“Freedom,” Alec mouthed to himself. It was a big concept. There was a sudden weight on his shoulder as Alexa shifted to match Uhura. 

“Freedom,” Nana repeated. “Like, for example, being able out figure out who you are and what you like. You try all different kinds of shapes, you hear?” 

Alexa shifted again, to a bright red cardinal, and Nana laughed. “Maybe on the weekend, if all y’all kids homework is done, we’ll introduce you to Star Wars.” 

In Alec Hardison’s earliest memories, his daemon mostly took the form of small burrowing creatures, mice or chipmunks or voles. Other kids in the system often had snarling dangerous daemons, all claws and teeth and spikes, and Alec understood why— life was scary and adults were powerful and of course they would want to try to grab at whatever control, whatever defense, that they could manage. 

But his daemon had assured him that it was better to be seen as _ cute _ or _ harmless, _ that his best defense was to make adults _ want _to defend him, and, as always, he trusted her. Now, under the approving gaze of Nana and Uhura, Alec and his daemon explored the way they’d always wanted to. Dogs were nice but boring, they agreed, and cats weren’t much better. 

“I’m not a pet,” Alexa said. She darted to peck at his face as a swift, then away before he could catch her. “Can’t cage me!” she shrilled. 

On one of her rare days off, Nana took the whole pack of them to the zoo, and the kids dared each other to try more and more challenging shapes. Nana cautioned them not to try anything too large— with the zoo always so crowded, they didn’t want to take up too much space or risk being _ touched_, but Alec and his sibs tried every monkey in the primate house and every snake in the herpetarium. Julián had only been in the family for a few months at that point and it took some coaxing to get his daemon out of her favorite hedgehog shape. When Alexa and Dalia started grooming each other as matching ring-tailed lemurs, Uhura whispered to Alec, “We’re proud of you, honey,” and he felt like he could cast the world’s best Patronus.

They had a big party when Keisha’s Solomon settled as a pale green corn snake, and again a year later when Amber’s daemon settled as a multicolored painted bunting and chose the name _ Amahle_. 

“Many cultures have a custom to name or rename daemons at settling,” Nana explained when Alec asked. “That's what we did,” she added, smoothing Uhura’s fur in a gesture that had become familiar to him. “Star Trek wasn’t even around when we were born, it came out when we were your age, and seeing a Black woman on screen who wasn’t a maid or a nanny, who was in _ space _like Neil Armstrong… it meant a lot, and it still does.” She glanced towards Alec’s daemon, a yellow warbler on his shoulder. “It’s part of becoming an adult, of defining yourself. No one has the right to tell you who you are, not a parent, not a teacher, not the government.” 

“So why didn’t Solomon change _ his _name?” Alec asked.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Nana responded, clicking her tongue. “That’s not for me to say. Only Solomon and Keisha could tell you that.”

(Alec did ask Keisha, and, wearing Solomon like a necktie, she told him that their names were the only thing they had left from their bio parents, and they wanted to keep that. Alexa, twined around Alec’s arm as a matching corn snake, quietly thanked their sister for sharing while Alec was speechless). 

By the time Alec was fourteen, his daemon spent her days switching between songbirds and her nights curled up next to him as some kind of furry mammal. Alec had become a talented violinist. He loved the complexity, the rising and falling notes, the way tiny notations on black and white translated to soaring melodies under his fingers. As he practiced harmonizing with his daemon, he felt confident that they were going to settle as a songbird like Amahle. 

“No need to rush,” Alexa told him whenever he started speculating. “I like having the choices now, the freedom. I don’t want to be stuck yet.” And she refused to say anything more on the subject.

Alec tried to be patient, even when Jess, two months younger than him, settled as a sleek black Lab. He went dutifully to classes, doodling musical notes in the margins. 

In the second semester of his sophomore year, Alec got signed up for a computer class. It turned out to be about coding, teaching the teens what made computers run, and how to write a basic program. At the end of their first week, they were given time to explore, giving a little virtual turtle orders. They were supposed to be able to tell it to draw a square, but Alec saw the potential unrolling in front of him like a concert. He wasn’t going to settle for the coding equivalent of _ Twinkle Twinkle Little Star _when he could see the same notes being used for a symphony. 

He began typing, hesitantly at first, then faster, seeing in his imagination what each instruction would lead to. On his shoulder, Alexa, in robin shape, pecked his ear. “No, you missed a step,” she scolded. “Here, I’ll show you.”

She glided down to the keyboard and shifted into a raccoon shape, tapping the keyboard gently with her dexterous paws. “There, like that, see?” Alec squinted at the line of code and grinned.

“That _ is _better,” he agreed. “I think I’ve got it now.” He turned back to his typing as his daemon hummed smugly. A moment later, she fell off the table with a thump. 

“What the fuck!” Alec yelped, her shock reverberating through him. He spared a moment for a quick glance towards the instructor, who was thankfully occupied on the other side of the room, before sliding off the chair to sit next to his daemon. 

“Baby, what happened?” he asked. She squirmed under his hand, patting herself down with her paws. 

“It’s dumb,” she said.

“You? Dumb? Never,” Alec assured her. 

She peeked up at him, her masked face giving it a comic look. “I jumped off the table to shift back into a bird in midair but it didn’t work. I’m stuck, Alec!”

“Stuck? You mean… settled?” 

She hissed, “Seems like it? I don’t know! I’ve never settled before!” 

Alec started to giggle. “We’re a _ raccoon?!? _Have you even ever tried that shape before?” 

“I don’t think so?” she squeaked. “This is so weird.”

“Everything okay here?” It was the instructor, looking bewildered at the lanky teenager on the floor.

“Yeah,” Alec said quickly. “Sorry, I think we just settled? But if you hit enter, it should start drawing.”

“Oh! Congratulations!” the instructor said, his expression clearing. He leaned over and pressed a key. Under his increasingly impressed gaze, the little turtle on screen drew a recognizable sketch of R2D2. 

With his warm fluffy daemon cuddled close to his chest, Alec watched their work unfold and felt like the whole world was theirs for the taking. 

It was on the way home that they started second-guessing. She was too big to fit on his shoulder, too uncomfortable to fit in his backpack, and too small to walk safely next to him the way dog daemons usually did. 

(Besides, they were both extremely reluctant to allow any space between them. It was part of why she’d consistently rejected larger forms. In their whole lives, Alec and his daemon had only rarely been out of physical contact, and never for longer than a few minutes at a time.)

Eventually they managed to balance Alexa on top of the backpack, half-sprawled onto Alec’s shoulders, her fluffy tail tickling his nose, but the whole process was stressful enough to make them start to doubt themselves.

Then there was this:

“Nana doesn’t like raccoons,” Alexa said, peering nervously out the bus window. “Remember the fuss last fall?”

Alec did remember the war his foster mom had waged with the local raccoons all season. He certainly remembered her vicious language at finding garbage scattered across the front lawn for the fourth week in a row. “Well, as long as you don’t break into the garbage cans when you want a snack, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he said, trying for humor and missing. 

She fidgeted, uneasy. He stroked her fur, admitting to himself that it was a far more comforting gesture than smoothing her feathers. 

“What if she doesn’t like us anymore?” Her voice was almost too quiet for Alec to hear.

“Hey, hey, baby,” he soothed, taking her into his arms. “Don’t you doubt Nana like that, Nana won’t abandon us, she promised.” He ran a finger over one of the stripes on her face, marveling at its perfection. “And hey, at least like this you can hug me back, yeah?”

She chuckled wetly and obligingly wrapped her arms around Alec’s neck, giving him a fierce hug. “I just… I can’t protect us anymore. We’re not tiny or harmless or cute, and I can’t mimic if I need to, and I can’t _ sing _ with you…”

“Hey!” Alec interrupted. “Baby, you are _ adorable. _ ” He bopped her nose. “And, well, it’s more that you don’t know _ how _ to protect us, not that you can’t, and if there’s anything we can do, it’s learn. Anything you can’t do, we’ll figure out a way around, love. And,” here he let some of the excitement he’d been trying to stifle in the face of her anxiety through, “girl, you can type! You can _ code! We _ can code! That’s _ so cool!” _

She grinned and Alec felt his heart melt at the way the expression lit up her face. _ I love you_, he said silently through their connection, sending her all his overwhelming affection and delight. Out loud, he added, “Besides, baby, maybe it’s time I do some protecting for once.” 

He was feeling less confident as the time approached when Nana would be home from work. Keisha was already away at college, and Amber had soccer practice. Jess had made appropriately congratulatory noises (“About time, Alec! God, she’s cute! So excited for you!”) but she’d agreed to clear out so Alec and his daemon could speak to Nana themselves. 

They were in the kitchen making dinner when Nana came in, shedding her work stuff as she walked. It was their turn to cook, and they’d figured out pretty quickly that the raccoon shape was actually helpful in the kitchen, able to open boxes and stir pots, as long as she was careful to keep her fur away from the flame. 

“Smells good, Alec,” Nana said cheerfully. Uhura slipped easily out of her handbag and clambered onto the counter next to the raccoon. “That’s a new form for you, isn’t it?”

“Hi, Nana,” Alec answered, shy in a way he hadn’t been since his first weeks living here. “Um, yeah, but it’s also our last one? We settled today.” 

Nana’s face lit up as Uhura began sniffing and poking at the raccoon. “Alec!” she exclaimed. “That’s wonderful!” She dropped the last of her bags and gave him a big hug, but stepped back as soon as she realized he was stiff and slow to respond. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Alec looked towards the counter, where his daemon had shrunk back from Uhura’s inspection. She always said the hardest stuff, but he’d be damned if he made her say this. He found his courage and his voice and said, “You hate raccoons.” 

“Oh, Alec, baby,” Nana sighed. On the counter, Uhura froze, nose twitching, the way meerkats stand sentry protect their colonies. (Alec had made a point to read up on meerkats once he figured out what Uhura was, back when he first came here). 

Nana took his cold, clammy, hand and squeezed. She said, “Yeah, Alec, I hated those fucking raccoons in the neighborhood. They’re thieves and they made a mess of the yard. But you know what I found most infuriating about them?”

“What?” Alec asked. He hated how small his voice had gotten.

“How damn _ clever _ they were. I couldn’t set a trap they wouldn’t get around or out of.” She smiled at him, gentle. “That’s you, Alec, so damn smart. So adaptable. I’m _ glad _ to see your true shape, because raccoons are tough and fierce and they can survive _ anywhere. _You’re going to be just fine, Alec, and I’m so happy.” 

Tenderly, Uhura began grooming the raccoon’s fur. _ Told you so, _he said silently to his daemon. She stuck her tongue out at him, but he could feel her joy and relief washing over him, and he grinned helplessly. 

At their settling party, Alec’s daemon announced that her name was _ Leia _to the whole room, humans and daemons alike. Alec thought of all the rainy Saturday afternoons watching Star Wars with his siblings, of Princess Leia strangling her abuser with the chains he’d forced on her, Leia finding family across the galaxy and doing anything to protect them. He gathered his own Leia into his arms. Nana slung an arm over his shoulders, eyes shining, and he knew she was thinking of the same things. “Leia,” Nana said thoughtfully. “It suits you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec— Leia, a raccoon. Raccoons are highly intelligent and adaptable, thriving in forests and in urban areas. They are commonly associated with theft and trickery, in part because of their behavior, but also because of the mask-like pattern of stripes on their faces. 
> 
> Nana— Uhura, a meerkat. Meerkats live in large colonies, where they work together to ensure the survival of the group. Often, females who have never reproduced are responsible for the colony's childcare— They teach young meerkats to survive, defend them from danger, and even lactate to feed them. 
> 
> Keisha— Solomon, a corn snake. Corn snakes are the most popular kind of snake to have as a pet because of their relaxed temperaments and minimal needs. They are not venomous, though they are sometimes mistaken for the venomous copperheads. 
> 
> Amber— Amahle, a painted bunting. Painted buntings are a species of songbird in the cardinal family. The male of the species is highly colorful, having feathers in blue, red, green and yellow. It is considered one of the most beautiful birds in the world. Painting buntings are shy and cautious around humans. 
> 
> Jess— Samwise, a Labrador retriever. Labrador retrievers are one of the most popular dog breeds both as pets and as disability assistance dogs. They tend to be friendly, outgoing, and gentle, particularly with children.


	3. Sophie: follow the farthest star

Just as there was a tiny group of former boy sopranos who had unwillingly derailed a major concert by the untimely arrival of puberty and the cracking of their voices, in theatre circles, there was a tiny group of former child actors who had screwed up a play when their daemons settled at the most inconvenient moment. 

The woman who would one day be known as Sophie Devereaux was part of that exclusive club. 

She hadn’t always been into theatre. No, Lara-who-would-be-Sophie’s favorite subject (in school, at least) was geography. She and her daemon, called Andromeda then, would close their eyes and spin the globe. One would point, the other would stop the spin, and the two of them would look up the spot together and make plans for what they would do there. They’d go together to London’s famous museums, looking at the art and artifacts stolen from places far away, and promise each other that one day they’d see those places for themself. 

To that end, Lara and Andy worked hard on languages, too, first French, then Spanish and Italian. And if her maths scores suffered a bit, well, her teachers all agreed that she was a bright child who would do alright for herself, and that was enough for her exhausted Mum.

When Lara was ten, she and Andromeda came home from school to find Mum in a strange mood, and they had a conversation Lara would think about for the rest of her life.

“How was work?” Lara asked. 

“Marcie got the promotion,” Mum told her. “Assistant manager, after Lindsay left.” 

“Marcie?” Lara said indignantly. On her shoulder in bearded dragon form, her daemon puffed up her beard and bobbed her head angrily. “Marcie’s only been there two years! Way less than you!”

Mum shrugged. “Marcie’s got a cat. Nobody’s going to promote a mouse over a cat. Can’t have a mouse in a position of authority, you know.” She cupped Cedric in one palm, the fieldmouse daemon fitting perfectly in her callused hand. 

“That’s _ illegal_,” Lara said, fresh from Year Five Civics. “It’s _ discrimination. _And it’s wrong.” 

Mum chuckled a little, low in her throat, and Cedric squeaked his own laugh. “Oh, honey,” Mum said. “Yes, you’re quite right, but unfortunately the world just doesn’t work that way. It’s a cat and dog world, not a mouse one.” There was a twist to Mum's mouth that Lara recognized from Christmas dinners with Aunt Emily and her fluffy grey cat, whenever Aunt Emily started talking about her latest accomplishments.

“Doesn’t it make you angry?” Lara asked. 

Mum shrugged again and patted the chair next to her. Lara slid into it, Andy morphing into a hedgehog as she did. “They’re not all wrong, you know. We _ are _a mouse, and we don’t like being the center of attention, and authority just means more people watching for when you screw up.” She smiled then, the little half-smirk Lara tried so hard to copy. “I give Marcie six months tops before she flames out.”

“It just isn’t fair,” Andy said, bristling. 

“Oh, princess, don’t I know it,” Mum replied, reaching over to ruffle Lara’s hair.

“It’s all about expectations,” Cedric said, watching them with his small bright eyes, nose twitching. “People see me and think _ meek_, they think _ pushover _ and they treat us accordingly. And yes, we’d much rather avoid a fight whenever we can. We never want to get in a fight we’re sure to lose.” He slipped into Mum’s purse, open on the table, and returned with something shiny clutched between his front paws. “But that’s not _ all _we are.” He pushed it over towards Andy, who shifted into a mouse to bring it to Lara. 

She picked up the small pearl earrings and looked inquiringly at her mother. 

“You’ve been wanting to get your ears pierced,” Mum said cheerfully. “Picked these up for you.” She smiled at her daughter, letting the girl make her own conclusions and waiting to see how she’d react. Lara thought about all the times she’d seen her mother dismissed (or worse) because her soul was, well, _ vermin, _ not something _ noble. _She held the earrings up to the light and admired their glow. 

“Thanks, Mum,” she said instead of asking just how her mother got such lovely jewelry that she was quite sure was well out of their budget, and she was rewarded with that coveted smile.

(Even decades later, Sophie kept those pearls close. She wore them, hidden by her hair, to her own funeral.) 

But that night, alone in their room, Andy took the shape of the sleek black cat they avoided in front of their mother and Cedric. 

"No matter what you settle as, we won't let them dismiss us," Lara vowed, admiring the glossy sheen of the cat's dark fur.

Andromeda arched her back in a long stretch. "Never," she agreed, then paused, considering. "Not unless being dismissed gets us something else we want," she added, nuzzling Lara's cheek with her velvety nose. 

"We'll be rich and glamorous world travelers," Lara said. "So we'll be able to have anything we want. Like a princess." It was Mum's pet name for them—for Andy, really, named for the princess of Greek mythology. 

"A duchess, at the very least," Andy purred. She shifted into a corgi, like the queen's Arthur. "It's all about expectations, right? We can use those."

Lara scratched her daemon's ears, and they went to sleep dreaming of castles. 

After that, she started watching adult daemons closely, seeing how they interacted with each other and with their humans. Everyone seemed to place so much importance on _ form_, but Lara didn’t have to look further than her own mum to see how much most people missed, how little they actually understood. For example, swans might mate for life, but you only had to see how Mr. Switford’s swan brushed her wing over Mrs. Kowalski’s goat to know that he hadn’t “mated” to his wife. And Lara saw. 

It was all about stories, she saw, the narratives people built themselves to force some structure onto the uncaring world. If you could shape what role people stuck you into, you could slip right into their narrative and take what you wanted. 

That was when she got into theatre. It was intoxicating before she really knew the meaning of that word, the heady sensation of standing exposed in front of a huge crowd ready to believe whatever she said, at least for a couple of hours. She could command attention and elicit emotion, all while keeping her true self tucked safely under masks both real and metaphorical. 

To her surprise, there was a great demand for young actors who had not yet settled. For convenience’s sake, most plays didn’t mention a specific daemon for their leads—or, if they did, it was only in general terms, “dog” or “bird” or “snake”. But there were always plays where daemon form was plot-relevant, or, like in _ Julius Caesar_, a matter of historical record. No picture of Julius Caesar was complete without the enormous grey wolf Imperatrix by his side, but people with wolf daemons rarely went into acting. Shakespeare and his colleagues solved the problem the same way they managed female characters in an environment that forbade women from the stage— with prepubescent boys. Caesar-the-actor would be accompanied by a boy pre-settling, whose daemon would take the shape of the iconic wolf instead. Even in modern times, it was often easier to partner a talented adult actor with a child’s versatile daemon than to cast an adult with both serious acting chops and the appropriate daemon. That strategy always carried the risk, though, that the child’s daemon might settle just before or during the show, leaving them scrambling to find a replacement.

Lara caused a different problem. It was also Shakespeare, naturally enough, and she was playing Juliet. At the pivotal moment of the play, arguably even more iconic than the balcony scene, Romeo and Juliet meet for the first time at the masquerade, their palms touch as they dance, and their daemons settle as matching nightingales. Shakespeare didn't invent the idea that lovers with matching daemons were uniquely suited, nor that the catalyst for settling foretold one's destiny, but he did immortalize it in perfect iambic pentameter, influencing romances both tragic and comedic for the next centuries. 

On opening night, Andromeda leapt from the mouse form on Lara’s shoulder into bird form in midair, just as they had rehearsed. 

But it was the wrong bird. 

Later, Lara would maintain that it wouldn’t have been disastrous if “Romeo” had been slightly quicker on the uptake, if he’d just kept going with the flirtation instead of stopping the show to hiss at Andy that she’d screwed up. It wasn’t as though the audience were ornithologists, she argued, one bird could work just as well as another. Romeo, of course, responded witheringly that one didn’t need to be an ornithologist to tell the difference between a boring grey bird and the distinctive tan of the nightingale. After all, he sniped, there were nightingales printed on the front of every program, and went on to imply that she’d done it on purpose for attention. 

(That the boy was later caught in possession of cheat sheet during final exams, one he denied any knowledge of, was surely a coincidence). 

“A mockingbird,” Lara concluded, late that night. The daemon-librarian had considerately agreed to stay late to help them find their answers, chatting quietly with Lara’s mum while Lara flipped through the reference books.

“I _ am _ sorry about the timing,” Andy said again, peering over her shoulder at the illustration in the book. 

Lara shrugged, trying not to think about it. “Well, at least our first stage production will certainly be memorable.”

“Maybe this means we’re destined for the stage,” Andy suggested. She ruffled her wings. Lara ran a finger down her back, reveling in the texture of the silky-soft feathers. 

“Must be,” she agreed. It was a nice thought, nicer than focusing on the breakdown of the production she'd worked so hard on. “Andromeda, darling, you’re beautiful.” The mockingbird shifted in what Lara would come to recognize as preening. 

“You’re happy then?” her daemon asked. “We’re not exactly...fierce.”

Lara smiled. Though she didn’t know it, it was nearly identical to her mother’s smirk. “Oh, we’re plenty fierce, dearest.” She pointed to the relevant passage in the book. “Mockingbirds defend their territories, and they never forget an enemy’s face. Anyone who underestimates us will have cause to regret it.”

Her daemon threw back her head and laughed, her black eyes glittering as the full-throated warble echoed around the empty library. “The world is ours for the taking,” she vowed.

And, in one way or another, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lara (Sophie)- Andromeda (Melpomene), a Northern Mockingbird. Mockingbirds are intelligent and capable of differentiating between individual humans, particularly recognizing people who have been intruders or threats in the past. They remember their breeding spots and return to areas where they had success in the past. And, of course, mockingbirds are known for their skilled mimicry of other birds.
> 
> Rosie (Sophie's mum)- Cedric, a Field Mouse. Also known as wood mice, field mice live in forests and grassland. They build extensive nests and burrows. They eat seeds and berries, preferring to forage at night and under the cover of leaves to avoid their many predators. They have been known to recognize and avoid traps set by humans, even managing to steal food from the traps without getting caught. 
> 
> Aunt Emily- unnamed, Persian cat. Persian cats are a breed of domestic housecat, known for their luxurious fur and relaxed attitudes. They are gentle and easygoing. Although they do not climb or pounce as much as other, more energetic, kinds of cat, they are still natural predators of mice. 
> 
> Julius Caesar- Imperatrix, Grey Wolf. Grey wolves are known for cooperative big game hunting and are usually the apex predator in their range. Additionally, wolves are associated with Rome as legend says their founders, Romulus and Remus, were raised by wolves. "Imperatrix" means empress in Latin. 
> 
> Other notes:  
-Queen Elizabeth II is known for her love of corgis so I went with that for her daemon, but I'm really not making any larger claims about what kind of person she is. Her daemon is named Arthur after King Arthur, the Once and Future King of Britain.
> 
> -Shakespeare scholars in this universe often argue about whether Shakespeare picked particular daemons because of the symbolism or because he was writing the part for a particular actor or some combination thereof.  
-I planned to give Romeo and Juliet lovebirds, but while Shakespeare mentioned literally dozens of species of birds in various plays and poems, he never mentioned lovebirds. Instead, I went with nightingales, which are already an important symbol in that play.  
-One of the major innovations of film in this universe was making it way easier to fake daemons. No one can be convinced to accept a real dog as a daemon on stage (though some theatre companies still prefer to go with that instead of using kids), but on film, it's much harder to tell the difference. There are a lot more animal trainers in Hollywood in this 'verse than in ours.  
-I will explain Andromeda's name change to Melpomene in another story.


	4. Eliot: one day I'll know (how far I'll go)

Throughout Eliot’s childhood, his parents had a running debate over what form his daemon would take when she settled. Pop insisted that Rosebud would be a reptile like her parents, but Mom was less sure.

Both parents loved repeating the story of how, when asked for his prediction, a three-year-old Eliot had proudly announced his intention to settle as a dinosaur, at which point Rosie had alarmed everyone by shifting into a crocodile large enough to eat the toddler in about three bites. 

“He’s just too hotheaded to settle as anything coldblooded,” Mom sighed as she carefully cleaned eight-year-old Eliot’s scrapes. Next to them, Rosebud shifted from a porcupine to a lizard bristling with spikes, just to be contrary. Reginald hissed in amusement from his regular spot curled around Mom’s wrist.

“He started it,” Eliot muttered sullenly. “We just...finished it.” It was true. The other boy had said Emma looked like a wrinkly old man, and Eliot had felt obliged to defend his newborn sister’s honor, even if he had admitted privately to Rosie that Emma really did look kinda like their grandpa. 

Dad chuckled. “You do always tell the boy to finish what he starts,” he teased. 

Mom pursed her lips like she was annoyed, but twitches at the corner of her mouth and Reginald’s tail betrayed her actual feelings. Eliot knew she wasn’t annoyed. Reassured, Rosie shifted into a tabby cat. She leapt into his lap and curled into a contented ball, flicking her ears at Eliot in a silent command to pet her.

“See? Mammal," Mom said smugly. 

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Pop cautioned, resting a hand on the iguana next to him, careful as always to avoid the spines. “I’m still thinking some kind of snake.”

“I am right here, you know,” Rosie said without raising her head from Eliot’s knee. 

Mom and Pop exchanged one of those glances again. It was a very distinctive glance, something to do with parenting, but Eliot hadn’t figured out exactly what it meant yet. 

“Sorry, honey,” Mom said. “We’ll lay off. And we’ll be proud of you no matter what.” 

“What she said,” Dad agreed gruffly. “Even if it’s a dinosaur.”

But for all his parents’ speculation, Eliot and Rosebud had no idea what their final form would be, not even a hint. Bud liked the sleek muscle of her snake form and being able to wrap herself around Eliot, but she also liked having wings, and paws, and soft cozy fur. She liked the sharp hearing of her bat form, and the sensitive nose of her dogs forms. She liked being able to fly. She switched between forms like Pop switched between tools when working on a project, grabbing whatever was most useful at the moment and discarding it without regret when another form better fit her needs. 

As the years went by, Eliot and Bud explored the neighborhood, the fields, and the nearby woods. They went hunting with Dad and horseback riding with Mom. When no amount of grounding or extra chores could keep them from getting into fights, their parents signed them up for martial arts classes, hoping that would instill some discipline, or at the very least, give him a fair chance against the older kids he kept insisting on scuffling with. 

When Eliot was eleven, the most promising of the older kids at the stable settled as a turkey. With his daemon too big to ride and too slow to reliably keep up, settling put an end to Pat’s racing career before it had a chance to start. The most successful jockeys had small light daemons who could ride along without adding extra bulk, like the previous year’s Kentucky Derby winner with his hawk moth, or like Mom with her ribbon snake. It was deemed too dangerous for people with large daemons to ride, just in case the horse bolted and the daemon couldn’t keep up, _ severing _the bond. 

As Eliot unsaddled his horse that afternoon, Bud slid from his shoulders and shifted from snake to border collie. She nuzzled at his knee. 

“What’s bothering you, El?” she asked, though she must have known or guessed. 

Eliot grunted, preferring to focus on currying the horse than talk about his feelings. But he couldn’t out-stubborn his daemon, and eventually he admitted, “It feels good when you’re big and strong, but it ain’t as good as riding.” He patted the horse’s side. “I don’t want to give this up.”

Bud sat on her haunches and went still, looking like one of those dog statues down by the library, all dignity and loyalty. She watched him finish caring for the horse and followed him out of the stable, pacing at his heels like a real dog. Together, they went to the fence to watch Mom finishing up her lesson, leading a child around the yard on one of the smaller ponies.

Rosebud stood on her hind legs, resting her paws on the fence rail so her head came nearly up to Eliot’s. “I can’t control what I settle as,” she said,” but I promise, El, I won’t take this from you.” 

“I can’t imagine you taking anything from me, Bud,” he said, and buried his hands in her soft fur. 

On his hunting trip with Pop that weekend, Eliot froze up with a huge wild turkey in his sights.

“What happened, son?” Pop asked, squinting over at him. “I know you coulda made that shot!”

Eliot fidgeted uncomfortably, lowering the shotgun carefully. “It’s just… Pat’s daemon settled as a turkey this week, and it just don't feel right to shoot one.” He glanced at his daemon, who shifted into a turkey as illustration.

“Ahh,” Pop sighed. “I guess we were overdue for this conversation.” He flipped the safety on his gun on and sat up, disturbing the camouflage they’d been trying to preserve.

“Those are good, smart, questions you’re asking,” Pop said. “You’re not the first person to be bothered by that kind of thing.” He paused. “You know, in lots of places, people eat iguanas.”

“Really?” Bud asked, shifting to match Basil. 

“Chicken of the trees,” Basil confirmed. 

“The basic answer to your question, why people are mostly okay with eating animals and not other people, is that animals don’t have souls, so it ain’t like eating a daemon or a person.” He shifted uncomfortably on the hard ground, scratching his nose with a gloved hand. “We ain’t ever discussed this before, Eliot, but do you know what happens to a daemon when their human dies?”

Rosebud shifted into her snake form and slithered into Eliot’s sleeve to wrap herself tightly around Eliot’s arm, skin on skin, feeling his pulse steady under her scales. 

Eliot shrugged, bringing his arm up to clutch his daemon against his chest. “I’m not sure, something to do with Dust? It’s gold on TV but I don’t really know what it is.”

Pop nodded, and Basil clambered on his lap. Apparently, even adults wanted to be close to their daemons when talking about death. “When someone dies, their daemon fades into golden Dust, like they talk about in church sometimes. It’s…. Well, it’s beautiful, actually, and it’s very sad, but there’s no _ body _left behind, no blood or bones or meat. So it don’t bother me to eat meat or to hunt, because I know it’s real different than a daemon.” He shrugged. “But all the same, son, I couldn’t bring myself to eat iguana, and if you settled as a turkey, I’d likely stop doing this, too.” 

Under his jacket, still in snake-form, Bud made her way up to Eliot’s shoulders to peek out at their dad. “I like hunting,” she said, flickering her tongue in the cold air. “It’s very satisfying.” 

Pop grinned at her. “Glad to hear it, Rosie-girl.” 

They didn't end up bagging any turkeys that day, but there were other hunting trips, and Eliot had to admit that his daemon was right. There was a certain satisfying joy from a successful hunt that they didn't find elsewhere. 

Eliot and the other boys were playing a game of pick-up football on the first really warm day in the spring of eighth grade when Rosebud, owl-shaped, turned around so sharply that Eliot, running below her, bumped into another boy and they both tumbled to the ground. A moment later, Eliot heard a commotion from the picnic table where the eighth-grade girls sat and gossiped. He pulled himself up onto an elbow and stared.

Across the field, Eliot saw the distinctive withers and laid-back shoulders of a chestnut Morgan horse, maybe fifteen hands tall, and looking quite out of place on the school playground. Rosebud landed next to him, quivering in excitement. “It’s David!” she gasped. “He settled!” 

Eliot stood, absently helping the other boy to his feet and muttering his apologies. And yeah, there was little Aimee Martin from down the street, not even tall enough yet to reach her daemon’s withers. 

“He’s _ magnificent, _” Rosie sighed, shifting into a sheepdog. Eliot was more captivated by the fierce joy shining from Aimee’s face as she looked at her newly-settled daemon, but he did have to admit that David made for a magnificent horse.

At dinner that night, he told his parents and his sisters all about it, but Pop already knew.

“Willie came by the shop earlier,” Pop explained, chuckling. “Man looked torn between bursting in pride and totally panicking. That egret of his was pretty much bouncing off the walls. He’s gonna have some serious remodeling to do.”

“Why?” June asked. She was seven at the time. 

“Think about Gracie,” Mom said, referring to the pony on which June was learning to ride. “Can you imagine Gracie fitting in the kitchen?” 

June’s daemon flickered into a pony just long enough to dent the wall and knock a bowl off the counter with a loud clatter before shifting into a tabby cat and licking his paw as though he had no clue what had caused the damage. 

Emma, who was only four, giggled. Mom and Pop exchanged one of those distinctive parenting glances for a long moment until Basil chuckled and said, “Yeah, that was predictable.” 

“Wait, so what’s Aimee going to _ do? _ ” Eliot asked, eyes widening. “If David can’t even get in through the front door anymore, where are they going to _ sleep_?” 

“At a guess, they’ll sleep at the barn tonight, and tomorrow Willie will get started on either building a bigger door for the house or making more of a living space in the barn for Aimee," Pop said. 

Mom added, her voice pensive, “Once upon a time, a daemon settling as a horse was a huge blessing. There were always problems with housing, but it could open up the world for someone who couldn’t afford a horse but suddenly had one, to travel or help out on the farm or join the cavalry. But these days, it’s more likely to limit opportunities— you can’t drive, or fly in an airplane, or work in an office building.” She stroked Reggie, curled in his usual place around her wrist. “We used to hope we’d settle as a horse but, well, that’s just not who we are.” 

“Horses are pretty,” Emma said, drawing out the word. “Is David pretty?”

“Very,” Rosie blurted. She shifted into a moth and ducked under Eliot’s shirt in embarrassment. Eliot squirmed and focused on twirling his spaghetti instead of making eye contact with anyone. 

Thankfully, Mom had his back. “Well, congratulations to the Martins, then,” she said. “June, what did you learn in class today?”

The thing was. 

The thing was, by the time Eliot was in high school, he’d seen several of his classmates’ daemons settle, as dogs or cats or squirrels or, in Aimee’s case, a horse so big she started homeschooling after that. And Eliot kept track of the adult daemons around him, and what kind of people they were attached to, and how that affected their lives. He saw a _ hunger _in his peers, just before they settled, some kind of deep desire, some sense of who they were and what they wanted.

And the thing was, Eliot wasn’t hungry. He was good at most things he tried, whether that was football or fighting or hunting or riding or even playing the guitar. He loved the taste of victory but he wasn’t starving for it. 

As Eliot grew older, it seemed to him that the town grew smaller. He couldn’t go for a walk around the block with a cute girl without neighbors mentioning it to his parents or someone teasing him about it in church, and he had to be even more careful with the “walks” he wanted to take with the cute boys. He felt like a horse chomping at its bit, desperate to gallop free, or like some kind of wild animal cooped up in a cage too small. His parents despaired of the fights he was still getting into, and Eliot didn’t know how to explain the freedom he felt when the world narrowed to just him and his opponent, how everything sharpened and seemed more real. Only Rosebud understood how fighting cleared his mind, made him feel whole and solid and competent. 

“I don’t know what I want,” Rosie confided in him one afternoon. They were laying on their backs basking in the sunshine, the endless blue of the prairie sky. Rosie was in her fox form, small and sandy-haired. 

Eliot nibbled absently on a blade of grass. “You mean settling?” he asked.

She twitched an ear. “Not just that,” she answered. “I mean, that too, of course. I can’t think of a form I love enough to have it forever. But really I meant the whole future. El, when you imagine us in five, ten years, what do you see?” 

“Living here, I guess, working with Pop in the store. Maybe married to Aimee.” 

“But is that what you _ want _, El?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she shifted into a hawk and flew straight up, as high as she could manage without getting too far away from him. Eliot looked at her silhouette against the sky, wings outstretched, straining at their bond. 

He sat up. “I don’t know, Bud,” he admitted. He held out an arm for her. “What do you want?” 

She flew back down and settled on his wrist, claws digging into his sleeve. “I just said I don’t know, weren’t you listening?” she snapped, then sighed. “I want… I want to see the ocean. I want to climb mountains, and smell the desert, and ride the train in a big city. I don’t want to stay here forever, El.” 

“Then we won’t,” he promised. As she spoke, new futures opened up before him, possibilities of traveling the world, of doing something different than he’d always expected. He felt the hope unfurling within him like her hawk’s wings stretched out against the sun. He cuddled Rosebud close and dreamed of new horizons. 

It would have been poetic, perhaps, if they’d settled then, but it was actually nearly two months later, with no particular precipitating event at all. Eliot simply woke up one morning to find Rosebud yawning wide, long teeth glinting in the sun. He reached out drowsily to scratch her triangular ears. As soon as his fingers touched the silken fur, he _ knew_, and came awake all at once.

“We're a wolf,” he gasped, sitting up. Rosebud blinked at him and gave herself a shake, jostling the bed. She froze as they both registered how much more she weighed than any of her usual forms. 

“No,” she disagreed, jumping to the floor and twisting to look at herself. “Not a wolf, I don’t think.” 

“You look pretty wolfish,” Eliot countered, sliding onto the floor next to her and sinking his hands into her fur. He hesitated. “I’m not misunderstanding— you are—” 

“Settled,” she confirmed. They stared at each other in rising awe. He slipped his arms around her neck and held her close. 

“You won’t be able to ride,” she whispered into his hair. “I’m sorry.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, which was a lie, and, “This matters more,” which was the truth. 

(One day, Eliot and his daemon would choose to attempt Separation, and though their discussion focused on the military advantages, the _ tactical _pros and cons, unspoken between them lay the quiet hope of riding again. But that was still years away.) 

Mom gloated to Pop that Rosebud had settled as a mammal, which Eliot had expected. Both parents looked at the large apex predator in their midst with a poorly-hidden unease, which he had not. His sisters oohed over her form and accompanied him to the library to confirm that Rosebud was neither wolf nor dog but a hybrid of the two. 

There were people in town who looked at him differently after Bud settled, with cautious respect or apprehension, especially people whose daemons were what Eliot couldn’t help thinking of as _ prey_. But Eliot, with his soul fierce and undeniable at his side, found he didn’t care all that much about their judgment. He and his daemon fixed their eyes on the horizon, and waited for the day when they could run towards it, together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daemons in this chapter:
> 
> Eliot- Rosebud (Boudicca), a Wolfdog. A hybrid of a grey wolf and a Siberian husky, Bud is a powerful hunter with a strong pack instinct. Wolfdogs tend to be larger than wolves, and are often even dangerous to humans than wolves because they are less afraid of people. They are fiercely loyal and difficult to tame. A hybrid daemon indicates a dichotomy in spirit. 
> 
> Pop- Basil, a Green Iguana. Iguanas are herbivores that enjoy climbing trees and basking in the sun. They prefer to flee when threatened but, if cornered, will fight back with their sharp teeth and spiky tail. Male green iguanas are the only known reptile observed to use their bodies to as shields for their partners. 
> 
> Mom- Reginald, an Eastern Ribbon Snake. Ribbon snakes are a non-venomous species of garter snake, known for their distinctive yellow stripes and particularly slender, "ribbon-like" bodies. They are rarely aggressive, preferring to flee or hide than to fight. 
> 
> Aimee Martin- David, a Morgan Horse. The Morgan horse is an early American horse breed, historically popular for military use, among other usages. They are known for their intelligence, stamina, courage, and powerful movement, as well as their versatility across many competitive disciplines. 
> 
> Willie Martin- unnamed, a Cattle Egret. Closely related to herons, cattle egrets are medium-sized white birds known for their symbiotic relationship with cattle and horses.


	5. Parker: a voice inside sings a different song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for Parker's canonically horrible childhood. More detailed warning in the end notes.

In Parker’s earliest memories, they took the forms of snarling dangerous animals, all claws and teeth and spikes. They considered it quite unfair that only one of their bodies could shapeshift, but even their human-form was capable of biting and clawing. Parker didn’t want anyone close, didn’t trust anyone not to hurt them.

(Of course, no one called them Parker then, not even themself, but these are still Parker’s memories, and as an adult, they'd rather be anachronistic about their true name than fully accurate about the labels given to them as a child by people who didn't know them.) 

When Parker was seven, they taught themself how to ride a bicycle on one of the group home’s beaten-down bikes. They fell three times. First, they didn’t start peddling fast enough and overbalanced nearly immediately. Next, they didn’t see a crack in the sidewalk. The jolt as they went over it knocked them off the seat. And then, once they got the hang of it, they started going too fast for the animal-form to keep up. They had to fall off the bike on purpose to keep the hurt from getting worse.

But Parker quickly figured out how to move fast, how to balance on the narrow frame, how to steer, and how to have the animal-form run or fly in front of the bike to keep a lookout for roadblocks and to make sure they stayed close.

It was a rare good day.

Not long after that good day, Parker got fostered by a couple in the suburbs who wanted a sister for their son, wanted to “help someone less fortunate than we are.” Parker eyed them and decided they looked _ too _ nice, with their dog daemons and white picket fence. Anyone looking that normal must be hiding something. On the other hand, the Williams’ pantry was stocked with so many yummy snacks that no one seemed to notice or care if some went missing, so Parker decided to make the best of it. 

The real son was named Nick, and he was totally useless. He was nearly seven and had no idea how to sneak or hide or even tie his shoes properly. His wide-eyed guileless smile was _ actually innocent_, not something he knew how to use to deflect anger. But he shared his toys with Parker, and never tried to get them in trouble for something he did. When, at the end of their first week in this new house, Nick handed Parker a stuffed bunny and told them it was theirs now, Parker discovered a new emotion in themself, a sort of tender protectiveness that they thought might be what other people were talking about when they said _ love. _

(They weren’t sure, though, because the last foster dad had told the foster mom how much he loved her after hitting her, and surely if he’d been feeling like Parker felt now, he never would’ve beaten her at all, so maybe this was feeling was something else. Maybe it was a stomach ache.) 

Parker knew how to sneak, and how to read, and they were very good at numbers, so they figured out within a month that the dad was lying at his job. They didn’t know enough about business to understand the context, but they could see that he was trying to pretend that numbers added up to something they didn't add up to, and figured that meant he was probably stealing. 

(As a grown-up, Parker would learn that this was called _embezzlement,_ and that men who looked like Mr. Williams got in less trouble than kids like Jamal at the group home did for stealing a watch, even though Mr. Williams stole much more money. As a child, though, what they learned was not to leave evidence of their crimes where anyone could walk into their office, pick the lock on their desk, locate the incriminating documents, and see that the numbers on the official documents didn't match the ones in the handwritten ledger. Honestly, that was just sloppy.)

But the Williams adults were tender with Nick. They gave their foster child food and a warm comfortable place to sleep, even though Parker couldn’t help snarling when anyone other than Nick came too close. And it was actually kind of satisfying to know they’d been right, that no one could be as good as the Williams pretended. So Parker said nothing about what they'd discovered. They simply tucked the knowledge away the same way they hoarded snacks and tried their hardest to be the daughter the Williams were looking for, the sister for their son. 

They taught Nick to ride a bike.

Parker and Nick both took dog forms, a beagle (Nick) and a husky (Parker). The dogs flanked the bike, trying to help the boy stay balanced, while Parker's human form called out encouragement from the sidewalk. The air was full of laughter and barking.

A car came too fast around the corner and failed to see Nick wobbling unsteadily on his new bike.

Later, Parker wouldn’t know what had alerted them, whether it was the vibrations in the road, or the roar of the engine, or some deeper instinct. From their spot next to the bike, they launched themself into the air, turning into a hawk and narrowly avoiding the speeding car. Both of Parker's forms howled a warning. 

It was too late. Nick was dead, and they weren’t.

Parker would never take a dog shape again.

From the way both parts of Mrs. Williams avoided eye contact, and the way the pointy ears of her small dog-shape drooped, it was clear that she felt guilty about bringing Parker back to the group home, but not guilty enough not to do it.

“I’m sorry this didn’t work out,” she told Parker, standing awkwardly next to her car. Parker nodded, uninterested in apologies or excuses. All that mattered was that the Williams weren’t keeping them, not how anyone felt about it. 

Her eyes, still reddened with tears, narrowed at the bunny clutched in Parker’s arms. “That was _ Nick's_,” she hissed, reaching to grab it back. Parker dug in their heels and shifted into a honey badger, baring both sets of teeth as ferociously as they knew how.

“Nick gave it to _ me_,” they growled with both mouths, and the older woman flinched back. 

“I suppose he would have wanted you to have it,” she conceded. “He admired you so much, you know.” She managed to make it sound like an accusation.

Parker nodded again. They knew. Nick had wanted to ride the bike to be more like Parker. They deserved the accusation. 

“Well. Goodbye, then,” Mrs. Williams said. 

There was a lump in Parker’s human throat, so the honey badger said, “Goodbye." They watched Mrs. Williams twitch in that way adults sometimes did if they used the wrong mouth to talk, and then they watched as she walked away. 

In their pocket, they felt the weight of the roll of cash from the back of the safe that Mr. Williams kept hidden from his wife. It would buy them pizza, and school lunch, and the occasional extra-soft shirt that they could pretend came from the discount shelf, but mostly it would stay tucked into a slit in their mattress where Parker could sleep on it like a dragon and feel safe. 

(One time they tried to shift into a tiny dragon, but the closest they could manage was a chameleon. That was okay, though. Chameleons were pretty cool.) 

Somebody decided that kids in group homes deserved fun outings sometimes too, so they piled a dozen kids into a bus and took them to the beach. 

Parker’s swimsuit came from a donation bin, so it was scratchy and didn’t fit right, but as soon as they saw the ocean, they didn’t care anymore. 

They didn’t have the words for how it made them feel, the immensity of it, the way the sun danced with the waves, the deep blue, the way it was always changing and always the same.

As soon as Ms. Kathy had finished talking ("something something safety something") and released the kids to the beach, Parker shifted into a seagull and raced towards the shoreline, feet pounding against the unfamiliar shifting warmth of the sand and wings beating the salty air. 

The wet sand squelched cheerfully under their toes but they hardly slowed down until they were knee-deep in the waves. The water was cold, much colder than they’d been prepared for, and they stifled a shriek as the cold water crept up the swimsuit. Getting it over at once was better than that slow creep, they decided, and plopped themselves down to get totally drenched by the next wave. They tasted salt on their lips and laughed. 

The seagull shifted into a jellyfish, floating next to the giggling human-shape. This was a whole new way of sensing the world. It would have taken the breath away of both shapes if the jellyfish had any breath, but it didn’t, so it was only the human shape left gasping. The jellyfish _ tasted _ the world around it, getting a sense of human bodies and fish from the taste and temperature of the water rushing through its tendrils. This was _ fascinating. _

They were so enraptured with these new sensations that they missed the approach of the biggest wave yet. It knocked the human-form into the sand, rushed up the beach, and then rushed out again, carrying the lightweight jellyfish-form with it. 

Parker screamed with the sudden pain of it and _ twisted_, shifting into the heaviest animal they could manage, one that would be stronger than the tide, heavy enough to halt the flow and make their way back to themself. 

Other kids nearby laughed and shrieked at the elephant suddenly hanging out in the shallows. Parker gathered themself up with their strong trunk and clung to themself, glad to be whole. They walked out of the ocean on legs that were surprisingly shaky for an elephant, and dropped themself gently into the sand, reveling in the safety of the sun-warmed beach. 

“There’s no need to scream like that, you scared me,” someone scolded. Parker peered at the voice with one large elephant-eye. It was Ms. Kathy, of course, her starling-shape still ruffled in alarm. “And tell your daemon to change to something smaller, you’re making a spectacle of yourself,” she added, ignoring that children up and down the beach were now mimicking Parker with elephant shapes of their own, to the mixed amusement and chagrin of their respective parents and guardians. 

Parker blinked at Ms. Kathy, but obligingly shifted into a crab. The elephant-shape was too big and attention-grabbing, anyway, and the crab’s claws clacked in a very satisfying manner. 

“Well,” Ms. Kathy said, “glad to see you’re okay, at least,” and she hurried away to where two of the younger kids were rubbing sand into each other’s eyes. 

_ Are we okay? _Parker wondered, rubbing at the spot where it had felt like the current was yanking their heart out. They scuttled onto their chest, their crab-shape settling just above their human shape’s steady heartbeat, and stared at the cloudless blue sky. 

_ Yeah, _ they decided. _ We’re okay. _

When they were ten, they went to a foster home with a man who screamed all the time, whose animal-form was a huge black pig, and a woman whose moth-shape couldn’t help her human-shape hide, even though it was obvious that both would love to melt into the wood and disappear. 

Parker knew about disappearing. The woman had the right idea, really, and Parker practiced hiding. They knew better than to draw attention to themself in that house.

When they needed new shoes for the winter, instead of trying to get money or help from the foster parents, they broke into the neighbor’s house using the spare key “hidden” under the doormat. They took two crisp twenties from the wallet on the kitchen table. There was some jewelry sitting out, too, that Parker was sure was valuable, but they had no idea what to do with it, so they left the gold behind and slipped away, unseen. The next day they got off the school bus at the stop nearest to the mall and bought themselves some new shoes, picking the ones as similar as possible to their current pair to keep the pig-man from noticing.

There was so much _ money _in the mall, and Parker realized they hadn’t needed to bother with the neighbor, not when there was so much to pick up right in the stores, purses carelessly abandoned while their owners tried on clothes, credit cards casually exchanging hands. Parker stole some cash and bought a couple warmer shirts, knowing better than to keep any money back where the pig-man might find it.

Parker did their best to keep from being a bother or a burden on their foster parents. They never asked for anything, and never complained. They worked hard to keep their hands still, at least when any adults could see them. They even tried to stay in unthreatening forms, moths and mice and rabbits. But when the pig-man stole Bunny away, and tried to use it as leverage to force Parker into obeying his creepy stupid contradictory rules, Parker knew it was time to stop holding back. 

“Be a good girl, or, I don’t know, a better thief,” the pig-man grunted while the moth-woman fluttered ineffectually. Parker knew there was no hope for them being a good girl, but being a better thief, well, they were already working on that. 

The next time both adults were out of the house, Parker retrieved Bunny (it was easy enough to shift into a monkey shape to get Bunny down from the top shelf). They knew about fires from one of those safety videos at the group home, and it was simple enough to reverse-engineer all the things they weren’t supposed to do— what wires to cut, what burner to leave on, what fuse to light. The hardest part was making sure it would all happen at the right time, but they watched a string burn in the sink, counted seconds, and calculated.

Parker left the house in flames behind them, human, eagle, and bunny. They did not look back. 

Although that the police were unable to prove arson, and no one wanted to believe a ten-year-old girl capable of that kind of deliberate damage, between the shadow of the fire and their unavoidably rising age, no one seemed interested in fostering them anymore. Parker, cuddling Bunny late at night, couldn’t bring themself to regret that, not when fostering was more likely to result "parents" like the pig-man than like Mr. and Mrs. Williams, and even the Williams had turned cruel in the end. Instead, they kept their eyes wide open and soaked in whatever knowledge they could find. 

They figured out where the staff at the home kept the good chocolate, the kind that was only for special occasions because there was never enough money. At night, they snuck out of bed in their darkest pajamas, flitting along the hallway in their smallest bat-shape so they could hear anyone coming, and stole some chocolate. They ate greedily in the dark, the sweetness melting on their tongue, and hid the wrappers on the laundry of the boy who kept teasing them for being weird. 

They listened at night as the older kids snuck into each other’s rooms, though they couldn’t figure out the appeal. When_ Parker _slipped out of their room at night, it was for things far more interesting than making funny noises with another kid. 

They watched the other kids interact, the dance of dominance and aggression and friendship that everyone else seemed to understand implicitly but whose steps they couldn’t figure out.

They practiced talking only with their human mouth, since it seemed to freak out adults and even other kids if they talked too much with their animal mouth. They tried to remember to use the animal-mouth only when directing comments to other animal-shapes, even though the distinction made no sense because they were talking to the same person either way.

They saw which kids started coming back with nicer clothes, with shiny watches and rounder cheeks, like they were getting more than enough to eat, and wondered what they were stealing to look so good.

And, inevitably, the leader of that pack recognized their hungry interest and brought them into the gang. 

Kelly had settled as a grey squirrel a couple years earlier, a lanky rodent that fidgeted constantly, peering around for watchers. He assigned Patrick, a quiet boy with a chipmunk daemon, to teach Parker to drive, and they became the getaway driver for a while. But soon Patrick recognized Parker’s potential, and told Kelly that the tiny blonde girl was wasted as a driver. 

So Kelly taught Parker how to coax a car open, how to get it to start even without the key, how to recognize what would be a good car to boost, and what to do with it once it was stolen. Parker learned about chop shops, and distributors, and a whole network of crime beyond what they could accomplish on their own. 

For a while, it was the happiest Parker had ever been, with an actual _ crew _to rely on. The thrill of a successful job was addicting, and the stash of money in their mattress grew larger.

They had never really belonged with anyone before. 

Then Parker and Kelly boosted a bait car. Kelly was the lookout while Parker fiddled with the lock, but when Kelly caught sight of the ambush, he vanished, leaving Parker to be taken into custody. 

Parker refused to speak to the cops, or the lawyers, or the judge. They said nothing at all as the cops demanded names, as the lawyers promised a deal in exchange for information on the rest of the crew, as the judge exhorted them about _ doing the right thing_. Parker knew that snitching was never the right thing and kept both mouths shut.

When the prosecutor confronted them with the stash of money the cops had found in Parker’s mattress, they shifted involuntarily into the snarling honey badger, which was as good as an admission of guilt to the court. Between that and being caught red-handed breaking into a car, it was only Parker’s age (and, probably, race and gender) that kept them from being locked away indefinitely.

The judge, an old man with a large owl, sentenced Parker to six months in juvenile detention.

As an adult, Parker tried not to think about juvie, about the beige walls or being locked in at night. Worst was the parade of psychologists trying to break them, or, as the psychologists described it, “trying to get through to a seriously troubled young girl.” 

One doctor in particular, Dr. Malcolm, seemed to think it was a problem that Parker was one instead of two. He insisted on talking to them separately, with two different names. If the wrong mouth replied, he would say witheringly, "I wasn't speaking to _you_," leaving Parker panicky and off-balance. It was the same words and tone they'd heard from other people their whole life, whenever they responded to a conversation that apparently hadn't included them. They'd worked hard to get better at recognizing when people were actually addressing them so they could avoid that disdain, but Dr. Malcolm _had_ been talking to them, they were sure of it, there wasn't even anyone else in the room most of the time, so what did he even _want_ from them?

It would have been enough to bring angry tears to their eyes if they had not trained themself out of crying years before, but then, of course, never crying was another thing that seemed to bother the psychologist. 

Parker learned to say _ I _ instead of _ we_, and staged a conversation between themself for the doctor to see, feeling horribly awkward. Was this how normal people acted, all the internal dialogue on the outside? It must be, because Dr. Malcolm seemed pleased with their “progress” but the next thing he wanted was for them to do different tasks at the same time. Parker failed again and again at this multitasking under the disappointed eyes of the both the doctor's forms, balding human and grey short-hair cat. He thought their “closeness” was unhealthy, stunting their “independence."

Parker could not understand how someone could possibly independent from themself. 

It got to be too much one day and Parker snapped, lunging for the doctor. They shifted to a buzzard, clawing at his human face, while their human shape tackled the grey cat. The orderlies ran in, tackling Parker in turn. When a large dog pinned the buzzard to the ground, they shifted to a snake, wriggling away, as their human shape twisted and kicked. They felt a sharp pinch in their neck and everything went fuzzy, then black.

When they woke up, the human-shape was restrained on one of the infirmary beds. The snake-shape was draped carelessly along their chest as though it had been deposited there by someone without hands. 

It was only a matter of moments to unhinge the restraints, and by the time a staff person came in, Parker was rubbing feeling back into their wrists. 

The next psychologist had a lot of questions about why Parker had done what they’d done and commentary about how unacceptable it was to ever touch someone else’s daemon, but Parker just pressed themself close together, human arms tight around the small greyish tan fox, and repeated, “He tried to take me away from myself,” and they never saw that Dr. Malcolm again. 

Of course they spent some of the time in juvie plotting escape routes, but, well, it was winter, and the facility wasn’t close to anywhere convenient. They had nowhere to go, and with snow falling nearly weekly, they decided lying to the occasional doctor was a reasonable trade-off for a warm dry place to sleep and three admittedly lousy meals a day. Planning various escape routes was still a fun way to pass the time, though, and they liked knowing they had the option to leave, even if they weren't going to take it yet. 

There were a few bright spots. Parker taught one of the other girls how to pick locks in exchange for information on how to survive in the city, what lies police officers would believe, and how to spot a plant. Another girl told them where to find a good fence, while Parker explained the backdoor startup sequence for certain kinds of cars. All the girls shared bits of wisdom they’d learned, things like _ Eric with a c, nice, Erik with a k, evil _ and _ never trust a squirrel daemon _ and _ kissing makes a good distraction. _

Still, they counted the days, and fantasized about painting those beige walls with greens and blues and purples.

When spring came, and, with it, the end of Parker’s sentence, the government shipped Parker off to a halfway house, since they had no one at all to come claim them. Parker slipped out before sunrise on the first morning of freedom. With the money they’d stolen from the driver, they bought a bus ticket to the nearest city, then snuck onto a train to leave the state. 

By the third day of freedom, Parker was several hundred miles away with a new haircut and a totally new set of clothes and were trying to decide on a new name. They found their way to a public park, where tourists had picnics and didn’t watch their wallets, and there was plenty of food and money to pick up. 

The birds sang their songs and Parker followed the sound of water to a small pond. They sat in the grass, relishing the feel of life blossoming around them, and shifted to join the dragonflies skimming the surface of the pond.

Parker chewed thoughtfully on a giant pretzel they’d snagged from a pushcart and watched the park with all four eyes, marveling at the detail and intensity of the dragonfly’s vision. They'd stolen a book of baby names from the train station bookstore, and now they flipped through it absently, hoping the right name would jump out at them. To their surprise, it did.

_ Parker. _

They liked the pop of the p, like pretzel and popcorn and pizza. They liked the hard k, how it felt strong and stable. They liked how it could be a first name or a last name, so it would keep people guessing, since it was going to be their only name. They liked how it could be a girl's name or a boy's name. And they liked that it meant _keeper of the park_, when sitting in this park was the first time they had ever felt truly free, responsible to no one and for no one but themself. 

"Parker," they said out loud with both mouths, and nodded, satisfied. The sun felt so good on their delicate golden wings. This, they decided, was what _ joy _felt like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains descriptions of child abuse and neglect, domestic violence, the death of a small child in a car accident, and an abusive psychologist while in juvenile detention. 
> 
> Daemons in this chapter:
> 
> Parker— Globe-Skimmer Dragonfly. Dragonflies have extraordinary eyesight and are fast, agile, flyers and hunters. Globe skimmers have the largest range of any species of dragonfly, and have one of the farthest known migrations of any insect. They can fly for hours without perching, as well as flying higher than any other species of dragonfly. They are gold in color. 
> 
> Mrs. Williams— Chihuahua. The Chihuahua is the smallest breed of dog, but that doesn't stop them from being fierce and, if not properly socialized, can be easily provoked into attacking. Chihuahuas tend to be fiercely loyal to one particular person and may become overprotective of that person. 
> 
> Bill— Razorback pig. Pigs are large omnivorous mammals raised as livestock, but in the wild, razorbacks (also known as feral hogs) cause widespread damage to property and agriculture every year. They are intelligent, aggressive, and territorial. Eating anything and everything, they also cause damage to the food chain. 
> 
> Kelly— Grey Squirrel. Squirrels are small tree-dwelling mammals who steal and hoard food. The grey squirrel is the largest and most aggressive species of squirrel, venturing into human territory and even houses in search of food. In Europe, they are considered an invasive species, particularly in their detrimental effect on the population of red squirrels.
> 
> Ms. Kathy— Starling. Starlings are small, gregarious songbirds who live in large flocks known as murmurations. 
> 
> Dr. Malcolm— American Shorthair Cat. The American Shorthair is a breed of cat with strong, powerful bodies. Shorthairs are known for being excellent mousers. They have sharp teeth, retractable claws, and quick reflexes.


End file.
